Tell It to My Heart
by LuxKen27
Summary: Season 5. He couldn't deny it any longer, to himself or to anyone else: he was desperately, achingly, heart-wrenchingly in love with Stacy, and now the only question was…what could he do about it?


**Title:** Tell It to My Heart

 **Author:** LuxKen27

 **Universe:** Canon

 **Genre** : Angst, Romance

 **Rating:** T

 **Warnings:** Innuendo

 **Word Count:** 7,012

 **Summary:** Season 5. He couldn't deny it any longer, to himself or to anyone else: he was desperately, achingly, heart-wrenchingly in love with Stacy, and now the only question was…what could he do about it?

 _Author's note:_ Happy birthday, KeB! =)

 **DISCLAIMER:** The _Kids Incorporated_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1984 – 1993 Thomas Lynch/Gary Biller/MGM Television/20th Century Fox Home Entertainment/Disney Channel. Any resemblance to any person currently living or deceased is unintended (i.e., I am writing about the _characters_ , not the _actors_ who portray them). No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Tell It to My Heart" lyrics © 1987 Seth Swirsky, Ernie Gold

.xxxxx.

He worried about her.

Ryan felt anxious as he strode down the sidewalk towards the P*lace on that late summer afternoon. The air was stale and muggy, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he drew nearer to his destination. He was going to the band's first – and last – rehearsal before school started back again, and so much had changed over the summer.

Kids Incorporated had been forced to say goodbye to two of its' founding members way back in June. Renee was off to study in Europe for a year with her cousin Samantha, and the Kid had been accepted as an exchange student in South Africa. Their final performance together had been bittersweet, one last open-air concert on the Diamond Park boardwalk to kick off summer vacation.

Renee and the Kid were but two in a long line of band members forced to move on by their circumstances. Mickey had moved away the year after founding the band; Gloria had graduated from high school a few years into her tenure. Both losses had been difficult for the group, but the band had managed to persevere, finding new talent to fill their ranks.

This time it was different, though. Kids Incorporated had been reduced to a quartet at the worst possible time: summer vacation drove them apart, thanks to part-time jobs and family vacations. The absence of their parting members would be keenly felt as those remaining came together again for the first time in three months.

That alone was enough to put Ryan on edge, but more than the band, he was worried about Stacy.

Renee's little sister. The Kid's best friend.

Ryan shoved his hands into his pockets as he rounded the corner, the familiar blue double-glass doors coming into view. He remembered how hard it had been for her after Gloria's graduation. Stacy was so bubbly and sweet that it was hard to believe how downtrodden she'd become. She'd perked up again as the year went on, after Connie and Richie joined the band and helped fill the hole that Gloria had left in their lineup, but he'd never forgotten how lost and vulnerable she'd been in the days and weeks following Gloria's departure.

He could only imagine how she was taking the loss of her sister and her best friend. He'd wanted to be there for her in her time of need, but unfortunately he was in the middle of his family's annual cross-country road trip to visit his far-flung relatives. He'd been in Colorado when the P*lace hosted the Kid's and Renee's farewell/bon voyage party, and he'd had to say goodbye to his friends on a pay phone at a gas station off the interstate.

He'd received a postcard from the Kid a couple of weeks later, postmarked from South Africa, with a cryptic closing line: " _Look after Stacy for us_."

It made him wonder what had happened at the party, and brought back the memories of Gloria's graduation with a vengeance. Once his family returned to New York from their road trip, he'd been able to think of little else.

He spied his friends before he made it inside the P*lace. Richie and Connie were sitting at the counter, chatting with Riley as they flipped through magazines and sipped on sodas. The three of them appeared relaxed and happy as they laughed together. Ryan smiled when he spotted them, his heart lifting a little. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he reasoned, reaching out to push through the blue-framed door. Maybe he'd been worrying for nothing. Maybe…

His smile withered away when he crossed the threshold, and his eyes landed on Stacy for the first time.

She sat alone at one of the tables near the counter. She was slumped forward in her seat, leaning on her elbows, studying her brightly polished nails with intense interest. Her face was drawn and pale, her expression carefully blank; she looked wholly disinterested in joining her bandmates for sodas at the counter.

Ryan approached his friends first, greeting them with a wave. "Hey guys," he said, drawing their attention from their magazines. "Long time no see!"

"Ryan!" Connie squealed, throwing her arms around him in an impulsive hug. "It's so great to see you! How was your summer?"

"Busy," he replied with a smile, accepting the drink that Riley offered him. He took a long sip. "How about yours?"

"Long," Connie sighed, combing her fingers through her hair.

"Boring," Richie put in, pulling his drumsticks from his back pocket and rolling out a snare beat on the counter.

"Interesting," Riley piped up. "I worked on a couple of inventions, and even managed to perfect one! You guys interested in seeing it?"

"No," Ryan, Richie, and Connie chorused in unison, at which Riley looked rather put out. He started to protest, but Ryan had already turned away, towards Stacy, studying her for a long moment before going over to her table.

"Stace?" he said quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "How are you doing?"

She looked up at him, her gaze rising to meet his, and he was struck by the deep solemnity lurking behind her eyes. "I'm fine," she replied, the corners of her mouth lifting into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

He didn't believe her for a second. In fact, seeing her in such close proximity only tightened the vise grip of trepidation in his chest. Her pale blue eyes were rimmed red and puffy; her cheeks were flushed; her hair had been pulled back into a hastily woven braid. She looked very weary and young and vulnerable, and he couldn't resist giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "It's going to be okay, Stace," he told her, sliding down into the chair next to hers.

"I know," she nodded, her eyes falling away from his. "I just… I miss them."

"So do I," he said. "We _all_ do." He glanced over at Connie and Richie, who nodded. "It won't be the same without them, but we'll adjust."

He squeezed Stacy's shoulder again. " _You'll_ adjust," he promised her. "You're strong, Stacy – stronger than you might think."

She looked at him. "You really think so?"

"I _know_ so," he assured her with a soft smile. "I believe in you."

She contemplated his response, her somber expression softening with a hopeful smile. "Thanks, Ryan," she said delicately. "I think – I think I really needed to hear you say that."

"Any time, Stace," he replied. "If you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here for you."

"We all are," Connie piped up.

Stacy's smile widened as she sat up, sending a grateful look to her younger bandmates. "Thanks, you guys," she burbled, blinking back tears. "I'm –I'm just _so_ glad you're all back. I'm sure Riley got sick of me hanging around here and moping."

Riley waved a hand dismissively. "Never, Stace," he contended. "You know you're always welcome here!"

"Even if I'm scaring off your customers?" she joked, earning a chuckle from her friends.

She glanced at Ryan, whose hand was still clasped around her shoulder. "I'm glad you're back," she told him. "I missed you."

A disconcerting sensation rippled through him as he sat there, his gaze lingering on hers. Her expression had brightened, the color receding from her cheeks; her smile was genuine and sunny, her eyes clear and focused – but still, there was a new sort of seriousness about her, lurking just beneath the surface.

He found himself strangely drawn to her, and it was starting to weird him out.

He let go of her, breaking the tension that had risen between them. "I've missed you, too," he murmured, turning his attention back to the others at the counter. " _All_ of you. I'm itching to get back in the swing of things. I think this can be our best year yet!"

"All right!" Richie cheered, rolling his drumsticks on the counter again.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear," Connie grinned. She pulled the stack of magazines into her arms as she slid down from her stool at the counter and joined Ryan and Stacy at their table. "I think we should kick off the school year with a bang, so I was looking over the charts, trying to find the perfect song to re-introduce our sound."

"I'm impressed," Ryan intoned as Connie produced several sheets of hastily-scrawled notebook paper. It was obvious that she and Richie had been plotting out potential concert numbers, which he very much appreciated. It was nice to see the new kids step up and contribute to the group now that the veterans were gone. It gave him a modicum of hope that Kids Incorporated – the Quartet – wouldn't be a total disaster. "Did you have anything especially in mind?"

"This," Connie proclaimed, jabbing her finger at a particular line in the colorful _Billboard_ singles chart. Her gaze turned shrewd as she continued, "And we think Stacy should sing it."

Ryan's brows lifted when he read the name of the song – Whitney Houston's "So Emotional" – and he looked up to meet Stacy's equally surprised expression. _How ironic_ , he thought. "How about it, Stace? Think you're up to it?"

"I'm willing to try," she replied, albeit uncertainly.

"We can always save it for a weekend concert, if you'd like," he offered. "After all, our first set is tomorrow afternoon."

"No, no," she insisted, "I can be ready by then." She flushed. "Actually, it's one of my favorite songs."

"Well, all right then," he mused, glancing back at Connie. Richie had also joined them at the table. "We just need to throw together a couple more songs, and we'll have our first set of the year!"

The four of them got to work, but Ryan couldn't quite shake that discomforting feeling from before. Losing Renee and the Kid had definitely changed Stacy – it just remained to be seen if it was for better, or for worse.

.xxxxx.

He started to notice her, in a new and different way.

It was hard not to, especially after she'd walked out on stage at the P*lace after their first full day of school and blown them all away with her performance of "So Emotional." She was so poised, her voice confident and strong as she commanded the stage. She had every kid in the place eating out of the palm of her hand – and, much to his shock and surprise, Ryan found himself among the enchanted.

Stacy really _had_ changed. In more ways than one.

Gone was the dreamy little girl who tended to tag along behind her sister. In her place stood a confident, mature, self-assured teenager, one who had slipped into her role as co-leader of the band with ease. She'd stepped up when he'd needed her to – when they recruited new talent for the band; when they were hit with the bombshell of a "surprise" audition; when they had to make the decision about whether Kenny and Devyn would prove to be more trouble than they were worth. She was quieter than before, more serious, but also more firm, and more willing to share her opinions on everything from band members to set lists to staging for their concerts.

He was impressed by her fortitude, and grateful for the help with managing the band, and somewhere along the line, he'd started to notice all of the _other_ things about her that had changed.

She'd grown a good six inches over the summer, and had filled out in all the right places. Her personal style was more sophisticated, her outfits sleek and stylish, revealing her stunningly long legs and trim figure. She'd started wearing makeup, a fact he'd only picked up on because she'd started doing the other girls' makeup before their Saturday night concerts. It was fascinating to watch her transform them – and herself – before their shows, and how well everything held up under the hot stage lights.

If anything, she looked even more beautiful to him _after_ those tiring twenty-song sets.

It was unnerving for him to think of her as beautiful. She'd always been a cute kid, to be sure, but they had been friends for so long that it was hard for him to think of her as anything other than a kid. And yet, he'd had enough experience to know when he was developing an attraction, and he was _most definitely_ developing an attraction to her.

He was not the only one, much to his chagrin.

She'd certainly made a splash at the high school. She'd been voted the freshman princess on the homecoming court, and had swept second place in the school's annual Beauty Night. Suddenly their afternoon sets at the P*lace were full of high-schoolers, mingling alongside their loyal younger audience members, and their Saturday evening concerts were a popular draw for couples on dates, eager to dance the night away.

The entire band's profile had been lifted, but Stacy had unabashedly become their breakout star. Tons of admirers – boys and girls alike – hung around after their sets, vying for her attention. She handled her newfound fame with aplomb, always wearing the same slightly coy expression, as if she had a juicy secret that she was just dying to share.

He watched from afar as other guys pursued her, flirted outrageously with her, and even went out with her. He was happy for her, glad to see her having a good time as she stood on her own two feet, emerging from Renee's – and the Kid's – shadows. After a few months (and a grades scare that almost saw her forced to quit Kids Incorporated), she managed to find a nice balance between school, the band, and her social life.

Everyone adored her. He was no exception.

So it was no great surprise to find himself staring at her as the band lounged around in the store room of the P*lace ahead of their New Year's Eve concert bonanza. The younger kids were buzzing around in an excited frenzy, putting the finishing touches on their colorful tuxedos as they ran through pieces of their songs and bits of the accompanying choreography. Stacy was seated at one of the vanities, applying her makeup with practiced ease. Ryan was all the way across the room from her, ostensibly tuning his guitar, but was spending more time looking at her than at his guitar.

Not that the other kids noticed – at first.

Stacy managed to calm them down, one by one, and took her time in putting on their makeup. Connie and Devyn preened under her attentions, receiving a full face of makeup – eyes, lips, hair. Somehow, she'd even managed to hook in Kenny and Richie this time, coaxing them into having powder applied to their faces to keep them from sweating profusely under the stage lights. Ryan was only half paying attention by that point, glancing over every so often as he really _did_ work on tuning his guitar, so he was startled when Richie called out, "Hey, Ryan! You _gotta_ try this!"

Ryan looked up just in time to see Stacy swipe a big fluffy brush over Richie's cheekbones. "Uh, no thanks," he replied sardonically. "I think I'll leave the glamour to you, Rich."

"Oh, come on," Connie cajoled, bouncing over to him with a big grin and draping an arm around his shoulders. "You're going to be front and center, Ryan. You should look your best."

"That's okay," Ryan started, "really, I – "

"We should all match," Devyn reasoned, and for a moment Ryan had a horrifying vision of them all in matching rouge and eyeliner, "and if the other boys have mattifying powder on, but you _don't_ …"

 _Mattifying powder?!_ he wondered in bewilderment. "I'll survive," he assured her, "I promise."

"What are you, chicken?" Kenny teased with a smile.

Ryan's jaw dropped. "No," he began indignantly, only to be interrupted again, this time by Stacy.

"It won't hurt," she assured him with a smile, taking his hand into her own and tugging gently. "I promise."

Ryan glanced from one bandmate to another, realizing that he was trapped. Making a bigger deal out of this than he had already would only earn him further ridicule. He could understand their pre-concert giddiness, but was in no mood to put up with merciless teasing. "Oh, _all right_ ," he finally conceded with an exaggerated huff, setting his guitar back on its stand and allowing Stacy to pull him from his seat. "If it means that much to you guys, then geez, I'll do it!"

Connie, Devyn, Kenny, and Richie cheered as Stacy led him across the room to her vanity, her hand still clasped in his as she rummaged through her eclectic collection of brushes and powders. Ryan stood dutifully beside her, trying not to think about the heat curling up the length of his arm, or the way his fingertips tingled beneath her touch, or the disappointment that washed over him when she let go of his hand in order to pick up a compact of bright white powder.

She swirled a black-handled, white-bristled brush in the powder and tapped it gently on the side of the compact before raising it to his face. He closed his eyes, not sure what to expect, and was pleasantly surprised to feel the softest, faintest touch of the cloud-like bristles as she buffed the product into his skin. When he opened his eyes, he noticed her amused expression, and he couldn't help but smile in response.

She swirled the brush into the powder several times, slowly covering the entirety of his face, giving him time to study her up close. Her blue eyes seemed brighter than usual, lined dramatically in black eyeliner, gazing at him from beneath long, dark lashes. Her honey blond hair flowed over her shoulders in gentle waves, pinned back on one side with a golden barrette. She was wearing gold earrings as well, big hoops that swung out and sparkled over her magenta-colored tux. And her lips…

He swallowed hard as his eyes traced the fullness of her mouth, a perfect cupid's bow the color of ripe strawberries. He'd observed her enough to know that she layered her lip products, and whatever she'd done this time looked amazing – so creamy and smooth and perfect – and when she smiled, revealing the tiniest hint of pearly white teeth –

– his breath constricted in his chest as he fought against the suddenly overwhelming urge to kiss her with every fiber of his being.

"Done!" she said pertly, tapping her brush on the tip of his nose and shattering the heady tension that had boiled up inside him. He exhaled sharply, but mercifully, she didn't notice, as she'd already turned around to replace her cosmetics on the cluttered table.

He was still feeling a bit rattled when she wrapped her arm around his, drawing him to her side in front of the mirror. "See? That wasn't so bad," she proclaimed, beaming at their reflection.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her, barely noticing how the powder was hiding the flush that had crept up the back of his neck and burnished his cheeks. "Yeah, um, thanks," he managed to choke out. "You look great."

Her grip on his arm tightened as she leaned into him, causing his blood to spike. "So do you," she teased.

He was saved from having to reply by their friendly neighborhood soda jerk. Riley stuck his head into the storeroom just then, hanging onto the knob of the garish pink door. "Showtime, guys!" he announced.

"All right!" the younger kids cheered, making a mad dash for the door, with Stacy on close on their heels. Ryan took the opportunity to run his fingers over the multiple tubes of lipsticks covering the vanity, scanning the tiny labels until he found the one he wanted. With another covert glance at the still-open door, he picked up the slim, black tube and pulled off the cap, confirming that he'd discovered the beautiful pink lipstick that she was wearing.

"Snow Peach," he murmured to himself, making a mental note of the product's name as he replaced the cap. _You'll never run out of this color if I have anything to do with it_ , he added with a small smile.

"Ryan? Are you coming?" called a voice through the open door.

"On my way," he replied, tossing the lipstick back amongst the clutter on the vanity.

.xxxxx.

He was surprised that it was Connie, of all people, who suggested that they perform the song.

The members of Kids Incorporated had gathered in the Garage, sitting in a loose semi-circle atop old milk crates as they examined their collection of sheet music. Every so often, one of them would call out the title of a song, and Ryan would dutifully write it down on their possibilities list, along with a few notes about transposing keys, who could sing lead, stagecraft, and the like.

"Did you guys see the Grammys last night?" Connie asked, waving a particular piece of sheet music in the air as she talked. "Taylor Dayne won an award for this song."

Devyn looked at the sheet music. "'Tell It to My Heart,'" she read, a smile curving over her lips. "Yeah, I remember that song! It was a _huge_ hit when it came out last year." She looked at Stacy and Ryan. "You guys didn't cover it."

"Nope," Stacy confirmed with a shrug. "We try to stay on top of the charts, but sometimes things _do_ fall through the cracks."

Kenny furrowed his brow skeptically. "Really? That song was _everywhere_ at the end of 1987. Was there a particular reason that Kids Incorporated never covered it?"

Stacy simply shrugged again, deferring to Ryan.

"No, no reason," he said evasively, tapping his pen against the pad of paper cradled in his lap.

"Then _we_ should perform it!" Connie suggested. "Especially now that it's a Grammy-winning record!"

"We would be _so_ on trend," Devyn put in. "Maybe we could do a whole Grammy-themed set! You know, _all_ of the award winners – of the relevant categories, that is."

The others murmured in agreement, but Ryan withheld his judgment. When they noticed that he hadn't added it to their list, they gave him identical, questioning looks, which eventually unnerved him enough to respond. "Taylor Dayne's stuff _is_ pretty risqué," he reminded them.

"It's not like we haven't covered her material before," Richie pointed out.

That was true, Ryan conceded. They'd covered "Prove Your Love" at Stacy's birthday party a few months back. She'd invited so many people that they'd had to hold the party at the P*lace, which of course featured a mini Kids Incorporated set as part of the entertainment. Stacy had taken the lead on the popular dance hit, and had made it her own, dancing and singing and soaking up the audience's response. She'd certainly made a statement: her birthday party had a medieval theme, and there were at least fifteen Lancelots to her lovely Lady Guinevere – five of whom had hastily changed costumes after her performance of that song.

She'd been surrounded by admirers for the entirety of that evening, though Ryan did not count himself among them. Instead, he'd lurked in the shadows, fighting off the ridiculous amounts of jealousy that he felt every time she danced with a different guy. It had been enough to permanently set his teeth on edge, and perhaps worst of all, it was all so goddamned _tiring_. By the end of the evening, he was absolutely exhausted, even though he'd more or less been rooted to his seat at Riley's counter.

It wasn't that she'd ignored him; she couldn't get close enough to him for that. He'd caught her looking in his direction a couple of times as the evening progressed, but they were never able to connect. He'd ended up leaving her gift with Riley at the counter and trudging home when it became obvious that the party wasn't going to end anytime soon.

If anything, her popularity only soared in the wake of her ultra-successful birthday party. He had it on good authority that at least three of his classmates were planning to ask her to the senior prom –because they'd all asked _him_ if he knew whether or not she'd already been asked, and by whom.

He hated how jealous he'd become of her horde of admirers. She had every right to them, of course, and they had every right to pursue her. Several of them had scored dates with her, but he was fairly certain that she didn't have a boyfriend. Given the way Devyn and Connie constantly grilled her for the details of her romantic life during band breaks, he was pretty sure he'd know if she had fallen in love with anyone in particular.

He couldn't be 100% sure, though – especially not now, when she was looking particularly lovely, with an extra special gleam in her eyes.

He could feel her eyes weighing heavily on him now, as she – and the others – awaited his response.

"Sure, fine, why not?" he finally said, adding the song to their list. "A Grammy-themed set is a brilliant idea, Devyn."

"Thanks," she beamed.

Connie passed out copies of the sheet music, which each of them dutifully added to their stacks. "I nominate Stacy for lead vocals," she declared, to which the others quickly cried, "Agreed!"

Stacy's smile was small and secretive as she looked over her copy of the lyrics, and Ryan felt his heart fall to the lower reaches of his stomach when he caught her expression. He recognized that look. It was the look that he'd been dreading to see grace her lovely features for months now.

There was no doubt about it, in his estimation: Stacy was in love.

The only question was – with whom?

.xxxxx.

That night, he dreamed of her.

Try as he might, he couldn't get her expression – or _that song_ – out of his head, no matter what he did. It lingered in the back of his mind, taunting him, as he ate dinner with his parents, as he worked on his homework, even while he motored through his long, mind-numbingly boring routine of strength exercises in preparation for his morning workout with the baseball team.

Anxious to get it off his mind, he'd flipped channels until he found MTV as he prepared for bed. Headbangers Ball was a welcome relief from the mental torture, so he'd left his TV on as he drifted off to sleep. In hindsight, he realized that the song must've featured in one of the late night blocks of videos on the music channel, because the dream kind of came out of nowhere.

He dreamed that he was in Taylor Dayne's video for "Tell It to My Heart."

Sort of.

He remembered feeling very confused as he looked around the blank, white-walled room, when the telltale intro of the dreaded song began. He was not really a fan of Taylor Dayne or her aggressively sexy style – he found her to be _too much_ : her eyes were too big, her lips were too big, her hair was too big. She was ridiculously over the top, but her music was annoyingly catchy. It had obviously lured him in, because why else would he be there?

A river of red paint trickled towards him, splitting the white room in half, before morphing into bloody red footprints. In the distance, he could see a figure emerge from the blankness, tall and lithe, blonde and barefoot, clad from head to toe in black. It was such a striking image that he couldn't look away.

The figure – the singer – drew closer to him, shrugging out of a familiar black leather jacket as she approached. He felt the entirety of his body contract when he realized that he recognized the sultry-voiced songstress.

It was Stacy. Her blond hair teased out, her lips painted a pouty crimson red, her eyes lined with dark kohl, she was clad in a short, black, skintight dress and a shiny black patent leather bodice that only served to accentuate the curves of her body.

Even in his dream, he struggled to breathe as she tread closer and closer to him, shirking odd bits of clothing – tearing off the sleeves of her dress, revealing her tanned, shapely shoulders; yanking at the hem of her skirt, until it had risen halfway up her thighs. Frustrated, needy ache reverberated through him as she neared, ripping away the patent leather bodice to bare her long, lean midriff.

" _Body to body, soul to soul,_ " she crooned, reaching out to him, curling her arms around his neck, " _always feel you near…_ " She pressed herself flush against him, setting every nerve ending in his body on fire. " _So say the words I long to hear…_ "

He bolted upright, waking himself just as her ethereal mouth had brushed against his, and fought to catch his breath as he stared into the inky black darkness that surrounded him. Sweat poured down his back as he ripped the bedcovers away from his still-inflamed body, and he shivered in the chill of the air conditioning that circulated through his bedroom.

He blinked several times, pushing away the residual, provocative imagery of his dream, before lying down again and willing himself to relax. He conjured up every stupid, fleeting thing he could think of – Riley's latest invention, Stubbs McKinsey's ugly mug, his ancient math teacher droning on about incomprehensible theorems – until, mercifully, he felt himself begin to calm.

He lay awake long after that, unable to trust himself enough to fall asleep again, lest the dream return – but he couldn't stave off the overwhelming heartache or the pent-up frustration that had surfaced in its wake.

He couldn't deny it any longer, to himself or to anyone else: he wanted her, and he wanted her _badly_. Heart, soul, body, mind, spirit – he was desperately, achingly, heart-wrenchingly in love with Stacy, and now the only question was…

…what could he do about it?

.xxxxx.

He sought her out.

He hadn't planned to – or, hell, maybe he had; it wasn't like he had much control over his emotions these days. He'd left his family's apartment early that morning, and had just started to walk, hoping the fresh air would help clear his head. He wandered through the entirety of the neighborhood, passing by the high school, the park, and the P*lace. When he approached the Garage, he was surprised to hear the faint sound of music emanating from the depths of building. Kids Incorporated wasn't due to rehearse for a couple of hours, but apparently someone was already there, putting in a bit of extra work.

His curiosity got the better of him, so he went inside, pushing through the heavy back door. The music drifting in his direction didn't stop; it was so loud that whoever was in there hadn't heard the rusty creaking of the ancient hinges. When he recognized the tune, he stopped in his tracks, his stomach turning a slow summersault.

 _Tell It to My Heart_.

His heart gained traction in his chest as he forced one foot in front of the other, winding his way through the piles of junk that the band had long ago pushed out of the way. He rounded a corner, and there she was, microphone aloft, belting out the tune that had haunted him for days.

Stacy stood with her back to him, her golden blond hair falling over her shoulders, pinned back from her face with pretty pink barrettes. She was wearing some sort of colorful outfit, teal pants and a matching shirt accentuated with a wide white belt, and nondescript white sneakers. She looked stylish, classically beautiful, nothing at all like the aggressively sexual femme fatale of his dream, and yet he still had to remind himself how to breathe.

The song ended, and Stacy studied her sheet music for a long moment while fiddling with her tape. Moments later, the music began again, and she started to sing.

Her voice was strong, explosive, commanding as she powered through the first verse. She couldn't stop herself from moving to the beat, falling into a simple little dance as she sang, swaying back and forth, and it was utterly hypnotic to him.

The illusion was shattered, however, when she came to the chorus. "Tell it to my heart / tell me I'm the only one," she intoned, "is this really love, or just a game?" The words were throaty and plaintive, but not coy – it sounded as if they were coming from the very depths of her soul, as if it was almost painful for her to say.

"Tell it to my heart / I can feel my body rock / every time you call my name…" she continued.

Somehow, he managed to propel himself forward as the music looped into the interval. He moved towards her, his hand lifting of its own accord, reaching out, as if to touch her.

"Stacy," he said softly, feeling his blood heat as he drew ever closer to her. "Stacy," he said again, somewhat louder, more forcefully, just as his hand connected with her shoulder.

She whirled around, her cheeks flushed, her sudden movement breaking his hold on her. "Ryan!" she breathed, clutching her microphone to her chest. "You startled me!" She studied him for a long moment, her brow furrowing as she tilted her head. "Are you okay?"

He could barely breathe; his throat was bone dry; his tongue felt like sandpaper. "Yeah," he managed to croak, shaking the cobwebs from his brain. "Yeah, I'm fine. And you… You sound _amazing_ , Stace."

She blushed. "Thanks," she murmured, switching off the microphone as the song faded out. She placed it carefully on one of the upturned crates that served as her makeshift music stand. "Well, now you know why."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I practice _a lot_ on my own," she replied, gesturing into the cavernous space. Her cheeks were still rosy pink as she confessed, "This doesn't come naturally to me, you know."

"You could've fooled me," Ryan said, shaking his head. "You're incredibly talented, and you make it look so easy…"

"And that's what's important, right?" she mused with a small smile. "Making it look effortless, even if it takes a lot of work to do so."

His stomach churned as he regarded her. It was obvious that he'd caught her off guard; nonetheless, she seemed pleased to see him. As much as he might've wanted to enjoy that feeling, he couldn't, the doubt and curiosity niggling in the back of his brain. It was so freaking _obvious_ , and he had to know.

 _It was now or never_ , he told himself. "It seems like you've had some … _special_ inspiration lately," he mentioned casually. "Whoever he is, he's a lucky guy."

She flushed again, averting her eyes from his. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not really," he rushed to assure her. "Let's just say that I have some experience in this department, so I know all the signs," he added ruefully. His heart took a pained beat, and he shrugged. "Like I said – he's a lucky guy."

She simply stood there, nibbling at her lower lip but offering no further response.

 _So that's it then_ , he despaired silently. _I was right_. He wasn't sure why he expected otherwise. It was as plain as the nose on her face that she was head over heels for _someone_ , and she didn't even bother to deny it. She'd never been able to hide her emotions, from him or from anyone else. It was one of the things that he liked best about her: how open and honest she was, and how easily he could read her. Not many girls wore their hearts on their sleeves anymore, which made navigating the thorny tangle of romantic relationships all the more treacherous.

A wave of jealousy rose up inside him, alongside his dejection. Whoever-he-is, indeed – knowing what he knew was bad enough, and he had a strong suspicion that he didn't know the half of it. There had to be others, beyond the gaggle of guys from his class who lusted after her, and her ever-present cluster of admirers who hung around the P*lace after their sets and concerts. Three grades separated her from him, and right now that gulf felt wider than ever.

But it was one thing to comprehend his competition – it was quite another to contemplate the vast unknown.

He wouldn't do that to himself. He _couldn't_. He had to let her go, before his attachment to her grew any deeper, before he lost all control of his better judgment. _You are my friend, and that is enough for me_ , he thought silently, gazing intently at her. _You are_ _my friend, and that_ is _enough for me_ …

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Stacy whispered, swallowing hard.

Her words barely pierced the heaviness of his thoughts. "Like what?" he murmured tonelessly, hoping that his heartbreak wasn't writ large across his features. The last thing he wanted to do was subject her to his petty, miserable jealousy; it wouldn't do to scare her off completely.

"Like you're going to kiss me," she breathed, looking a bit frightened, yet intrigued.

"Because I am," he admitted, taking a step closer to her and touching her face. Her eyes widened, and her tongue darted out to wet the inner ring of her lips, but she made no move to stop him. Still, he couldn't help feeling terrible for being so selfish. "I'm sorry, Stace, but I – "

He pressed his lips to hers, cradling her head with both of his hands, his fingers sinking into her lush, honey-colored hair. He tried and failed to be gentle and contrite; the feeling of her mouth under his was absolute perfection, even better than he had imagined. She was so soft and sweet and warm and _willing_ –

Somehow, his brain made that final connection just as she yielded to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing his body into her own. She moaned, a purr in the back of her throat, and curled her hands into his hair, and he lost all vestige of reason. He shifted his hold on her, his hands drifting down the smooth planes of her back and landing on the curves of her hips. He pulled her closer, if that was even possible, until he could feel the heat of her torso seeping into his.

She responded in kind, arching into him, grabbing fistfuls of hair as she opened her mouth to deepen their kiss.

It was more than he could've hoped for. In that moment, all he knew was the soft press of her body against his, the welcome touch of her tongue, the passion that burned between them, aching and intense and raw. He wanted to have his fill and then take even more; he wanted to find her boundaries right then and there – but his civilized mind managed to assert itself, taking hold of his brain once again, before he made an even bigger fool of himself than he already had.

Because now she knew how he felt about her, of that he had no doubt. Hell, he'd probably even managed to convey the fact that he'd fantasized about her, given the intimate press of their bodies. But he didn't regret it. He'd always have this moment. Whoever-he-is might've lain claim to her heart, but now a little piece of her would always be _his_.

With great reluctance, he let her go, loosening his grip on her waist and easing away from her. She kept hold of him, however, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, a jolt of surprise shot down his spine.

She was gazing at him with love and desire and adoration, her lips curved up into an incredulous yet pleased smile. "Never in my wildest dreams," she breathed, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I couldn't let myself believe that it would happen – that it _could_ happen."

He swallowed hard. "What are you talking about?" he asked, feeling rather pleasantly ensnared in her embrace.

"It's _you_ ," she said softly. "It's always been you." She giggled at the utter confusion that had, no doubt, laid claim to his features. "I thought you said that it was obvious that I was in love. Was it not obvious that it was with you?"

He shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. "No," he murmured, touching her face, running his thumb over the crest of her cheek. "No, not at all."

She smiled, her hands drifting down over his shoulders. "I don't know how I managed to keep it from you," she confessed. "I've always felt like you could read me like a book… I just didn't think you were interested."

"I never wanted to stand in your way," he told her. "Not that I could even get close to you these past few months. You've amassed quite the fan club, you know."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, leaning into him, capturing his lips in another soft, sweet kiss. "None of them have measured up to your standard."

He shuddered, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. He didn't know how to respond to that – his mind was too busy trying to process everything she'd already said, and done. In the space of five minutes, he'd gone from abject misery to absolute ecstasy, and he couldn't help but wonder – why had he waited so long to tell her?

Or, more precisely, _show_ her how he felt about her?

"I've wanted you to notice me for so long," she sighed, her breath hitching in her throat as he nuzzled her neck.

"So why waste any more time?" he mused, lifting his head and drawing her close, his lips finding hers in a triumphant, satisfying kiss.


End file.
